Personal Effects
by Szmandariffic
Summary: A story mostly focusing on Greg Sanders, but also on the lives of the other CSIs. Take a look at what happens both on stage and back stage. No pairings, but there is angst and humor, as well as actual cases and plot. Rating may change for later chapters.
1. Riddles

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI.

Author's Note:

This is a story that is mostly based around the character Greg Sanders from the television series CSI: Crime Scene Investigation. However, it also gives a bit of a look into the lives of the other CSI's on the show, so there's a little bit for everyone. There are no pairings, but there's some angst and some humor. Mostly it's just an experiment of mine to try out a new style of writing.

I'm hoping that this fic is going to be one that I'll stick with. I'm hoping that this style comes out okay. Also, I'm hoping that I'll be getting a lot of readers and a lot of reviews. This story, as I've said before, won't have any pairings in it (at least as a main focus). It will have a lot of focus on cases as well as the characters, so I may occasionally go off from talking about Greg or whoever for a couple of chapters and follow the case instead.

I am one of the biggest CSI fans you will ever meet. However, I can't afford to buy all of the seasons on DVD and whatnot, so I will get details as correct as I possibly can. If I get something mixed up, such as saying that one case came before another, though the latter of the two actually came first, you can tell me about it politely so that it can be revised, but no flames, please. Or you can just leave it alone and play along…

Now, onto the story.

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Chapter One

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"They're always married, tall blondes, correct?" 

"With dogs."

"Right. And never any other animals, if I'm not mistaken?"  
"You got it."

"Is there anything else that they have in common that we're missing?"

"They could be going to the same supermarket or something."

"Yeah, but we can't really trace that well, can we? Another thing these women had in common was that they didn't communicate well with their husbands, and were probably near divorce. So if it's something like the supermarket or clothing store they go to, I doubt we can get it out of the husbands because they wouldn't have a clue."

"There's no way to know until we look into it, though."

"I'll take that if you want me to, Gil."

"Sure, Cat. But bring Nick with you. Judging by the way the husbands are, they probably won't want to answer questions with just a woman present."

Ah… they're discussing something… Best wait for the perfect moment… 

"All right, we'll go as soon as we've finished reviewing the evidence we have."

"Well, as we've established earlier, our killer is a neat freak. We haven't found any fingerprints, hairs, blood, or much other evidence. We don't even know where the women are killed; we only know where their bodies were dumped. The only physical evidence we have are the ropes and cloth that he binds the bodies in."

"Oh! Don't forget that possible murder weapons are always left in their refrigerators."

"Okay, so they're perfectly clean, no semen, bound, gagged, and dropped off in front of antique shops. And possible murder weapons are found perfectly clean in their fridges. What the hell is left?"

Perfect… 

"Hey guys," came an ever-familiar voice. The heads of Gil Grissom, Catherine Willows, Nick Stokes, Warrick Brown, and Sara Sidle all turned to peer at the anxious lab boy. They all braced themselves for a long introduction to something, for Greg Sanders never simply told someone information in a straightforward manner. It had to be told as if it was the most important thing in the world.

"Yes, Greg?" Grissom question with a raised eyebrow. "We're in the middle of discussing the serial killer cases, so if it's not related, we don't really want to hear it right now."

"Of course it's related, my dear co-workers. Now, since I love you all so much, I've been working my tush off to find something on the vics' bodies that I could possibly test. It had driven me so insane that I finally just asked Doc if he could scrape me up a bit of their skin. Now, I have a riddle for you…"

Gil closed his eyes in an attempt to remain patient, Catherine smiled at the familiar prolonged announcement of information, Sara rolled her eyes and shook her head, Warrick sighed and rested his head on his palm, and Nick slid down in his chair. It had begun so normally, but they hoped too soon for the entire announcement from Greg to go as such.

Once the lab tech saw that everyone had assumed their usual positions for listening to him, he continued on. "Okay, what's black and white and read all over?"

"Newspaper," Nick answered automatically.

Gil furrowed his eyebrows. "The victims were found with traces of newspaper on their bodies?"  
"No," Greg said, a smile creeping across his lips. "I just wanted to see how good you guys are with riddles."

There was silence in the room for a few moments after the comment. The jokester cleared his throat, bouncing slightly as he stood.

"So anyway…" he said, his arms behind his back as he bounced. "Now it's serious… What do you get when you take NaCl, add it to H2O, then put it in the biggest fish bowl on earth?"

Silence stayed in the air for a few lingering seconds before Sara piped up, "Ocean."

"Correct!" Greg exclaimed, flashing her a smile. "And for your clever mind, you win an expense-free trip to Flounder Port."

"Why Flounder Port?" Catherine suddenly asked.

"Don't you remember when you gave me the food from the victims' refrigerators to process, just in case something was left behind in there?"

"Yeah? So what?" Warrick asked, looking up with more interest than he had earlier.

"Well, apparently all of the women had a taste for seafood. And all bags of chopped up fish and junk were from a little shack at Flounder Port called Toby's Seafood. The label was on the side, and there was a picture of a little fish head on it. Not very pleasant, eh?"

Warrick turned to Grissom. "Should I have Brass run a check on this Toby guy?"  
"I'll do that. You and Sara can go check out one of the husbands to save time. By the time you're done with him, I should have Brass's results and possibly a warrant."

"All right," said Catherine, rising from her seat at the staff room table. "Nicky, we'd better get going."

"We'll take O'Riley," Sara told the other pair as she stood as well.

"Then we'll have Smith and Tomas," Nick confirmed, the last to stand.

Grissom left the room first, without another word, nor even so much as a glance at Greg. Then Sara and Warrick left, the tall and suave man giving the lab tech a glance and the attractive girl flashing him a smile. And next it was Nick, who put his hand on DNA boy's shoulder for a moment before exiting.

"Thanks Greg," Catherine made sure to say. She gave him a reassuring smile, which didn't help to shrink his ego.

"You're quite welcome, Ms. Willows," he responded, nodding to her. "Good luck with your questions… I hope everything turns out okay."

The mother of one didn't say anything else, but she did keep her smile on him and gave his shoulder a squeeze, much like Nick had done. Though hers was more sympathetic, and Greg could immediately read it as, "They really do appreciate you, you know."

They left the room together, but when they parted -Greg in the direction of the lab and Catherine towards the way to the lockers- the lab boy flashed her a smirk, then gave her leg a small tap with his foot. And the mother knew that with such simple gestures, he said, "Thanks."

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Author's Note: 

Short, I know… Chapters will be quite short until the story gets running, I'm afraid. But shorter chapters means more frequent posting…

I have three more chapters waiting, but I won't post any of them unless I know that I have readers. Please review. I won't know if I have readers unless I get reviews.


	2. Radiohead and Tremors

Disclaimer: Still no CSI.

Reason for Rating: Story contains some strong language, blood, mentions of sexual activities, rape, torture, death, and any of that other good stuff you'll find on CSI.

Author's Note:

I'm sorry if the A.N. for last chapter seemed a bit crude. I wasn't really in the best of moods when I wrote/posted it, so I put some of my mood into it. This postmay notbe much better, seeing as I'm in a downright terrible mood, but I'll try my best…

Anyhoo, thank you for the reviews. Though there were few, I still appreciated them. I do admit, however, that I would appreciate more. Tell friends and whatnot… Go on… You know you want to. I'm driven by my readers. The more I have (and I can only know that I have them if they review), the more frequently I'll post.

Also, last chapter I didn't have much of a summary for you, nor did I have a reason for my rating, I'll put them in now (rating is above). However, I do not guarantee that the summary is written in stone. Things may get changed around depending on what I write. Right now it's more… "sprayed on Jell-O with whipped cream" than "carved in stone".

_Whipped Cream and Jell-O Summary:  
__Being a CSI isn't the most glorious job in the world: especially on the night shift, and double especially if you're simply a lab technician. Unfortunately, Greg Sanders is hit twice, being a "nocturnal, DNA lab rat." Yet he continues to live his life- dating, bar hopping, making friends, surfing, scuba diving, etc. He even does most of these things well; though, still being decently young and slightly immature, he is often flawed. However, he rarely (and I mean, like, pigmy albino aardwolf rare) makes an error in his work. But even with his outstanding work and effort, he is barely praised or even thanked for it. This is almost certain to dampen anyone's spirits at the very least.  
__Greg is a different story. He's got a big ego, though he usually keeps it hidden or speaks of it in a joking manner. When enough work is done and enough thank-yous are missed, it begins to take a toll on the childish young man. This is one (though one of the smaller) reason why Sanders wanted to work in the field. However, this has both its positives and its negatives, which Greg finds out only too soon.  
__Things begin to take a turn for the worse in Greg's life. Troubles with his "girlfriend", work, family, friends, money, and then…  
__Well, you'll just have to wait and see because the author doesn't want to give away major plot points and/or surprises.  
__And so ends the Whipped Cream and Jell-O Summary for three major reasons. One: the author can't think of much else to write. Two: the author wants to finish this thing already so more of the actual story can be written and then homework can be attended to. Three: the author is afraid of using anymore 'however's, 'though's, or 'also's. (If anyone has any other transition words that can take those places without sounding awkward and you post them for me, I will love you forever and always.)_

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Chapter Two  
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A small spring seemed to be in the boyish man's step as he strode along to the lab. No one really seemed to think it unusual for him, though if it had been anyone else, they would've stared with puzzled expressions on their faces.

The lab was empty of life when Greg arrived, though he didn't really expect anything different. As soon as he walked in, he groaned at the sight of a huge pile of paperwork and samples on his desk that had not been there before he left. But what else had he expected? There was always work for him to do, and since the first day he had arrived it hadn't been any different.

With a slightly dampened spirit, the lab tech walked over to his stereo: his main escape from the stress of his job. He pressed a button that turned it on, then popped open the top. Scanning over the few disks he kept in the lab, he chose one of his old favorites: Radiohead. Today just seemed like the type of crappy day that needed catchy, but slow-motion-like alternative in the background while he processed and wrote. The disk was placed in the player, the top was closed, the repeat button was pressed twice, and the stereo automatically began to read and play the CD.

There was no singing, whistling, or even humming along as Greg worked. He liked having a bit of background distraction, for silence was far too distracting; yet if he sang along and whatnot, it would have the same effect as the silence. So the young man was focused, or, as he called it, "in the zone."

Greg prepared and otherwise processed all samples before turning to the papers. In this way, he could work while he waited for results. Most of the papers, he noticed almost immediately, were from Grissom. The Sanders boy sighed. Could his supervisor ever do his own paperwork? Of course, Greg wasn't given anything that had to do with the bulk of the case, he simply had to take care of the evidence files. But it was never just a few pages for him; it was always a dozen or more.

Pushing those aside, he first wrote up the reports given to him by others that coincided with their samples. He had to wait for the results to come out before recording any data dealing with that information, but most of the other blanks he could fill in with no problem.

Three hours later, the young man in the lab with the insane hairstyle and clashing clothes could be found exactly where he had been after sitting down to the paperwork. Only now he had a pounding headache, and his results were nearly done coming out. It would take him another two full hours before he only had one more folder of papers left to fill in and file.

"Greg?" came a voice from the doorway.

The hard-working boy nearly leapt out of his chair. He hadn't even heard the door open; he had been so deep in his working trance. Childish eyes looked to Gil Grissom standing in the doorway.

"I-I'm almost done with your papers… Got backed up on another case going on, so it took me a while to get through. Should be done in another ten mi-"

"Greg…"

It took the Sanders boy a minute to control his shaking, though his control wasn't complete. He didn't really know why he was shaking, though it was most likely a combination of the initial shock his boss had given him and his headache, which was still throbbing like a bastard.

"Yeah?"

"Your shift ended an hour ago."

"Oh…" Greg hadn't looked at a clock since he first walked into the lab.

"Go home, Greg. Get some sleep and come back in tomorrow."

"Right… Lemme just finish this up."

Grissom didn't argue. However, he did give his lab boy a small smile.

_ooooooooooooooooooo_

Fifteen minutes later, Greg was in the locker room, hanging up his lab coat and pulling on his street one. It had taken him forever to unbutton the white lab accessory; his hands didn't seem to want to work correctly. This was extremely strange, considering he hadn't been shaking at all before Grissom had arrived in the lab. At least, he hadn't noticed any trembling.

"C'mon Sanders, shake it off," he told himself, slipping in the pun on his shivers. He couldn't help but smile. The last time his body had reacted this way was when the accident occurred in the lab and he ended up in the hospital. Once he returned to work, his hands took several days to stop quivering. But as far as the lab tech could tell, there was nothing wrong with him.

"Just need sleep. Sleep and food…"

With a last little jingle of his car keys and a slam of his locker, Greg was out the door and on his way home.

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Author's Note:

Stupid chapter. Short and stupid. I don't like it either, but we'll be getting to the good stuff soon. I'll tell you right now that I like the next chapter a helluva lot. Be comforted.  
Also, I apologize for the terrible layout. I really miss the old fanfiction layout, with which the paragraphs had as many spaces between them as you wanted there to be... I've given up on the lines. They're a real bitch, you know? (In case I've confused you, **CSICSI**etc. Big Brake, and _oooooo_etc. Tiny Brake.)  
Please review.

**!IMPORTANT!  
****I thought I'd inform you all that when the story is finally finished and I have no more to add, I will post one last thing. It will go back to every chapter and tell you, the readers, what I wanted to show/express in each chapter. For example, the next chapter is centered on Grissom, and therefore my choice of words and descriptions of things will be Grissom-like. I'm telling y'all this now so, if you're interested in a challenge, you can begin to pick out the little things and guess about them. In this way, you can compare your thoughts about my thoughts to my actual thoughts at the very end. Get it? It may seem strange, and I betcha no one's going to do it, but it's worth a shot anyway, right?**


	3. Small Smiles

Disclaimer: Still no CSI, dagnabbit.

Author's Note:

Thank you all so much for the positive reviews! I really appreciate them all, even the ones that aren't too long. I hope you like this next chapter… Also, I have a few things to say to a specific few of you, but I'll put them at the end.

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Chapter Three  
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Grissom walked down the hallway, having just come from the DNA lab. He shook his head as the thoughts that filled it were of his quirkiest employee. Sometimes he wondered where that boy would be if not working with forensics.

Even when strolling back into his office, Gil's thoughts were still on Sanders. After his discovery of the salt on the victim's bodies, the case had become much easier to read.They had even managed tosuccessfully arrest Toby, with whom they had found a bag of the victims' clothes- every piece covered in blood. Though he could be a troublemaker at times, Grissom felt lucky to have Sanders for a lab tech. He was young, just under thirty, but his thirst and enthusiasm for learning made him one of the most knowledgeable people of his age, and Grissom admired that.

Gil knew that he wasn't the most modern of men. He knew that his emotions weren't the strongest. It was perhaps because of his social handicaps that he didn't understand Sanders, but no matter what the cause was, there was no denying that something about Sanders that bothered him. He listened to loud and annoying music, hardly ever stopped talking, was almost always in a good or bouncy mood, and flirted on the phone with girlfriends while on the job. And yet he always got things done without error.

A sigh escaped the elder's lips. After dropping his folders dealing with the serial killer murders on his desk, he looked over to what sat next to them:a recently perchased cockroach, sitting peacefully in his cage.

"Lucky little creature,"Gil said to it, crouching down slightly to get a better view of the insect. "I envy you. No employment, no close friends or family, no feelings, and no acquaintances like Greg Sanders."

Grissom then straightened and walked over to the coat rack in the corner of the room where he pulled down his jacket and slipped it on. Then, with one last glance back at his crawling friends that were located in various places around the room, he turned off the lights and exited his office.

While he walked down the hallway, he listened to conversations in various rooms. The simple man felt somewhat heartened, being able to hear what others were saying. Not so long ago, he had difficulties listening to people who were speaking directly to him while they stood naught three feet away. Yet now he was eavesdropping on the mere murmurs that were being uttered ten feet from his own. He would have smiled, expect that smiling made him uncomfortable. It was something that happened so rarely that the muscles used to make such a gesture were rather weak, and when moved, they felt as though they didn't belong in such a position. This gave an excuse to Grissom's short smiles, if there was a smile at all.

He passed the locker room as he strode toward the building's main exit. Being so observant, Grissom naturally glanced into the room, giving it a once-over. He saw Sanders. But he saw Sanders struggling to remove his lab coat. When was the last time that happened? Well, that was an easy one, but it deeply bewildered Grissom.

A single glass door that belonged to a pair was pushed open, and Gil was caught with a rush of fresh air. Summer had been over for some time now, and fall's cooler nature was beginning to effect the desert's scorching norm. The sky was cloudless, and a very slight breeze could be felt if one were to stand completely still. A car pulled into the parking lot and occupied a spot not far from Grissom's own. The extremely faint pink tinge of the distantly rising sun was reflected off the smooth, black paint of the Volks Wagon, though quite a few of the strongest stars could also be seen on the frame. The man who stepped out from the driver's seat a moment after the engine could be heard being put to rest was a stranger to Gil, but the older of the two gave him a slight wave anyway as their paths crossed. The younger man gave the other a funny sort of eyebrow raise and attempted grin as he struggled to keep back a yawn. But Grissom did not know the man and the man did not know Grissom. The man was inside before the older man could give him any sort of good morning.

Then Gil was in his own car, pulling out of the parking lot, and thinking. Sanders had been shaking after the explosion in the lab, but that day was long gone. And he hadn't been shaking earlier while telling the crew about the evidence he had collected. It wasn't as if Sanders had gotten into any other trouble in the few hours they had been apart. Though, Grissom thought amusedly, you never really knew with that boy.

And then he thought of that roach that sat in the cage on his desk. He wondered if roaches could ever develop such diverse personalities as humans were capable of forming. And then he wondered if the roach might behave differently if he was fed some other type of food than what his diet currently consisted of. And then he wondered if some sort of meat would cause the roach to act unusually. And then he wondered what meat might be able to make the roach stronger as well as different. And then he was off.

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Author's Note:

Still short, I know. I warned you earlier that it would be this way for a while. I'm currently working on the sixth chapter, however, and it's longer. So simply be patient, and things will get longer and better as I go along.

Specific Replies:

Doggies45- Indeed, I do believe the new layout it pretty bad. Though it may just be my opinion… Also, thank you for that comments on my lines and connecting with the characters. I never really thought that I was doing cool things like that, so thank you for boosting my ego/confidence/mood. )

JoonSanders- Plot will come soon enough… Trust me. Also, thank you for the transition words. I doubt that they'll always work for the things that I try to say, but they may help on occasion. Thanks very much.


	4. Keys and an Apple Rind

Disclaimer: If I owned CSI, it would have its own channel. Obviously, I don't own CSI.

Author's Note:

Though I do very much appreciate my reviews/reviewers, I am extremely disappointed. I though I had more fic followers, yet last chapter I received far fewer reviews than in the other chapters (only three). It upset me, and therefore caused me to wait so long to post a new chapter. I need motivation, people… (

However, I do greatly thank/love FicFreak6, Doggies45 (extra love to you for being so enthusiastic 3), and another anonymous reviewer (anon). This chapter is for you! I apologize for making you wait so long. Also, sorry it's so short and lame…

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Chapter Four  
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The stereo was turned off during Greg Sander's entire drive home. And though he didn't have any sounds to distract him, hardly a thought came into his head. It was about seven in the morning, yet there wasn't as much traffic as he usually encountered. It took a mere twenty minutes' time for the tired young man to return home.

He stepped out of his car into an empty parking lot. It was an old, used Toyota- tan and plain, but Greg loved her. She was his little baby, and though she looked as though she was in terrible condition, he took good care of her. He locked her doors and shut his behind him, gave her an affectionate pat on the hood, then made his way to the front door of his apartment complex.

A drawn out creek was boldly shouted from the rusty hinges of the door as it was pushed open. Greg winced, the sound unwelcome to his tired, tired state. Sluggishly, he trudged up two flights of stairs to the apartment's third floor. The actual floor, meaning the solid surface beneath one's feet, was about as dingy and dirty as Greg's current mood. Scuff marks from playful children and clumps of cat hair could also be found, and yet there was no custodian in sight.

Another black line was made by Greg's sneakers, though it was purposeful and made out of spite. A sound more pleasant than what was made by the rebellious door was registered in Greg's mind as he searched for the correct key on his chain. When it was located, it was regretfully shoved into a keyhole, where it made available the entrance to the lab tech's living quarters. However, the jingles from his keys were suddenly drowned out by shouts from next room over.

"Don't give me that shit, Michael! I know that you've been fucking around with that whore down the street!"

"What the hell! How is giving her a glance while we drive by fucking her?"

"Don't give me that shit! Don't you think I would've found that dirty condom in our bathroom? We haven't had sex in weeks, Michael, so unless you're going to tell me that you like to jerk off with rubber, you can't deny that you've fucked with her!"

"You know what? If you're not going to trust me, then fuck you!"

Then the sobs began.

But Greg ignored it all. Shouts of words similar, if not identical, to those had been heard coming from the next room over countless times over, and countless times again. Others in the complex had also learned to ignore it by now. Though, the ignorance would be more easily done if the Johnsons didn't have kids.

An apple was Greg's meal. It was his 7:30 a.m. dinner, and though it was small, his howling stomach appreciated it. However, it wasn't as though the young man had many other choices. And when he was as tired as he was at the moment, anything that was quick and easy was appreciated. It could've been cardboard for all he cared.

When all that was left was the rind, it was tossed and a second apple that sat in a bowl was considered. But the bed's callings were suddenly too loud to ignore, and Greg would probably keel over any minute now, whether he was in it or not. He sat at the edge of his bed while he peeled the jacket and shirt off his torso and removed his shoes. The socks were left on, but the pants were off very shortly after the sneakers. If the bed had been made, Greg would have crawled under the covers. But instead he could only lie down on the mattress and attempt to untangle the mess of sheets and blankets that was twisted at his feet. Once a sheet and a blanket were separated from the intertwined mass, they were awkwardly pulled over the young man's body. He rolled onto his side and made sure that his alarm was set.

After running everything over in his mind to make sure that he hadn't left a computer on at work or forgotten to lock his door, Greg could finally burrow comfortably into his bed. His sleep was dreamless.

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Author's Note:

Hopefully I'll get more reviews this time… It's such a pity that last chapter was my favorite, yet it went so unloved.


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